he’d love it if
I was in the crowd. It probably didn’t mean much of anything in the long-term,
but I had to admit to myself that he at least was showing me a little
attention. He had to be at least a little interested in me.
I stepped up to the box office and cleared my throat.
It had occurred to me more than once that as nice as Johnny might seem, this
all could be an elaborate prank. But I couldn’t just assume that of him; I had
to take him at face value that he had meant what he’d said. The woman, who
looked about my mom’s age or slightly older, looked up. “Hi,” I said, smiling
nervously. “I should have two tickets reserved there—uh…” I glanced around;
there were a few people behind Georgia and me in line. “They would have been
put aside by Johnny—Johnny Steel.” I tried to say the name as quietly as
possible; if it was a prank, I didn’t want anyone to know, or at least, as few
people as possible.
The woman looked down at a list and smiled. “Yes, I
see two tickets, right here. Can I get your ID for a second? I do have to make
sure they’re going to the right person.” Relief flooded through me as I dug my
ID out of my wallet and handed it over.
With our tickets in hand, Gigi and I went into the
stadium, both of us getting more and more excited; I had looked at the tickets
to try and figure out where we were sitting—what section, so we wouldn’t be
wandering around forever. We found the part of the stands where our tickets had
us and went through the gate to that area, and I looked around at the seat
numbers. As we moved forward, and forward, closer and closer to the ice, I
finally could see that the tickets that Johnny had had them hold for us were
right behind the glass, right next to the area where the team would be. “Holy
crap!” Georgia said as we sat down. She gave me a little grin.
“They probably just have, like, a certain group of
seats they can choose from,” I said, though my cheeks were already warming up.
I would be able to see everything—and especially Johnny. When Georgia had
mentioned we were going to the game that night to some of the other girls on
our floor, they’d told us that Johnny played Left Wing, that he was one of—if
not the—best player on the team. Angelina had been nearly green with envy at
the fact that we’d gotten free tickets from one of the star players—she was a
huge hockey fan, and the college’s team was one of the reasons she had chosen
the school.
We settled in to watch the game, and I looked out over
the ice constantly, watching as the two teams came out and started warming up.
My heart was pounding, and as soon as I saw Johnny, I knew I was grinning like
an idiot. “We should have made a giant sign,” Georgia muttered to me as
everyone around us cheered, elbowing me playfully.
“Right,” I countered, “Because nothing says ‘date me’
like acting like an obsessed fan-girl.” Georgia laughed and we were swept up in
the excitement of the crowd and the action of the game.
I really had very little idea of what was going on—and
I felt a little bit guilty, more than once, that here I was, watching a game I
didn’t even know anything about, when someone like Angelina would have given an
arm—or at least a finger—to be there. But it was obvious to me as I watched
that Johnny was a star for a reason: he was as tough on the ice as he was nice
in person, fast and brutal pushing through other players, and I was barely even
able to keep track of the puck as he raced from one end of the ice to the other
with it, passing it with just a quick movement to one of the other members of
his team or intercepting it from the other team. There were no actual fights,
but it was easy for me to see how hockey had developed a reputation as a brutal
sport—players jostling and shoving, knocking into each other. Even with pads it
was hard for me to imagine how any of them managed to escape unscathed.
It almost hit me like a shock when the
I was in the crowd. It probably didn’t mean much of anything in the long-term,
but I had to admit to myself that he at least was showing me a little
attention. He had to be at least a little interested in me.
I stepped up to the box office and cleared my throat.
It had occurred to me more than once that as nice as Johnny might seem, this
all could be an elaborate prank. But I couldn’t just assume that of him; I had
to take him at face value that he had meant what he’d said. The woman, who
looked about my mom’s age or slightly older, looked up. “Hi,” I said, smiling
nervously. “I should have two tickets reserved there—uh…” I glanced around;
there were a few people behind Georgia and me in line. “They would have been
put aside by Johnny—Johnny Steel.” I tried to say the name as quietly as
possible; if it was a prank, I didn’t want anyone to know, or at least, as few
people as possible.
The woman looked down at a list and smiled. “Yes, I
see two tickets, right here. Can I get your ID for a second? I do have to make
sure they’re going to the right person.” Relief flooded through me as I dug my
ID out of my wallet and handed it over.
With our tickets in hand, Gigi and I went into the
stadium, both of us getting more and more excited; I had looked at the tickets
to try and figure out where we were sitting—what section, so we wouldn’t be
wandering around forever. We found the part of the stands where our tickets had
us and went through the gate to that area, and I looked around at the seat
numbers. As we moved forward, and forward, closer and closer to the ice, I
finally could see that the tickets that Johnny had had them hold for us were
right behind the glass, right next to the area where the team would be. “Holy
crap!” Georgia said as we sat down. She gave me a little grin.
“They probably just have, like, a certain group of
seats they can choose from,” I said, though my cheeks were already warming up.
I would be able to see everything—and especially Johnny. When Georgia had
mentioned we were going to the game that night to some of the other girls on
our floor, they’d told us that Johnny played Left Wing, that he was one of—if
not the—best player on the team. Angelina had been nearly green with envy at
the fact that we’d gotten free tickets from one of the star players—she was a
huge hockey fan, and the college’s team was one of the reasons she had chosen
the school.
We settled in to watch the game, and I looked out over
the ice constantly, watching as the two teams came out and started warming up.
My heart was pounding, and as soon as I saw Johnny, I knew I was grinning like
an idiot. “We should have made a giant sign,” Georgia muttered to me as
everyone around us cheered, elbowing me playfully.
“Right,” I countered, “Because nothing says ‘date me’
like acting like an obsessed fan-girl.” Georgia laughed and we were swept up in
the excitement of the crowd and the action of the game.
I really had very little idea of what was going on—and
I felt a little bit guilty, more than once, that here I was, watching a game I
didn’t even know anything about, when someone like Angelina would have given an
arm—or at least a finger—to be there. But it was obvious to me as I watched
that Johnny was a star for a reason: he was as tough on the ice as he was nice
in person, fast and brutal pushing through other players, and I was barely even
able to keep track of the puck as he raced from one end of the ice to the other
with it, passing it with just a quick movement to one of the other members of
his team or intercepting it from the other team. There were no actual fights,
but it was easy for me to see how hockey had developed a reputation as a brutal
sport—players jostling and shoving, knocking into each other. Even with pads it
was hard for me to imagine how any of them managed to escape unscathed.
It almost hit me like a shock when the
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